


The Last Temptation of Will Graham

by WildHaunt



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Devil!Hannibal, M/M, Priest!Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5375087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildHaunt/pseuds/WildHaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is searching for his calling. Maybe the priesthood would suit him. Hannibal appears to offer him a note that the FBI is looking for a consultant of Will's particular experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning

December fog drapes itself between the sleepy trees. They’re stripped bare along their skinny trunks. The sky is dark dressed in blues and grays. The moon sets behind them hiding in the blanket of fog. The flimsy light makes the houses and brick buildings of the city appear black and cold, empty. You'd think someone would be awake, that there would be a faint glow of light giving off some semblance of heat. It’s barely 6 and the sun has yet to rise. The electric click and hum of Will Graham's space heater and the sound of his dog’s breathing fill his head this quiet morning. His unkempt brown curls fall in his face brushing against his sharp nose. He moves the thick curtain from his blue green eyes yet a lock still sits perched upon his delicate cheekbones. He needs to shave. Winston, Will's golden retriever blinks and yawns raising his head slowly to look at Will, as if he's in agreement. It was kind of the church to let him keep Winston. He is still in his boxers as he stands and stretches his arms above his head. His shirt rises revealing dark hair on his stomach that has started its slow journey to softness. He dresses silently after petting his faithful friend. He never clicks on the light. 

It’s almost time for morning prayers and the sky is awash in pink and gold. Slowly the fog will pull away from the trees and the brick of the courtyard. Although it has been unseasonably warm this winter, at least the days, the mornings are still dark and cold and unforgiving. Will’s skin prickles on just such a morning the hair on his arms standing on end and brushing against the fabric of his shirt. He rubs himself to get the blood flowing to his chilled extremities. He should have grabbed a sweater but he’s not going far from the outbuilding to the main church. He’s made this walk in colder weather. At the very least it’s not snowing. 

He thinks back to the his visit last year before his move to Maryland. Nearly slipping down the stairs as he was leaving mass. The weather was erratic no one was expecting snow so the stairs hadn’t been salted. A nice thin sheet, nearly invisible to the hurried clergyman, had settled on the brickwork. In his haste Will had been paying no mind to path ahead. He just needed to get back to the airport before he was stranded an extra night. He registered his heel connecting with the slick wet patch just as his feet slid out from under him. His teeth grit together as he braced, panic stricken, for impact. He was barely able to grab hold of the stair-railing. He shakes his head, heart pounding at the thought.

Will has not yet officially joined the priesthood. Getting this far was actually a difficult decision for him. It wasn’t as though he’s felt “the calling” or that he felt drawn to any particular career. Once upon a time he’d given consideration to working with Louisiana’s finest. But the obvious corruption on the force and local politics didn’t sit too well with him. He missed his boat and other dogs the most. Fishing quietly in the warm sticky mornings. A chilly breeze brings him back from his waders, his boat, the sounds of rippling water and hungry fish waiting near the surface. In his mind he curses the wind and how even after some years here he just can’t get warm. 

Will can see the sun through the last ragged edges of fog as he walks through the small cemetery grounds and toward the courtyard to the main building of the church. A tall wrought iron fence separates the churchyard from the street. The crunching of the leaves beneath his feet and sound of traffic are enough that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. Soft black leather shoes, creased deep blue plaid suit with matching waistcoat, and gold tie and a matching scarf all neatly pressed and angled perfectly tailored for the man who now stands at arms length to Will. Will stops and turns to face the man behind him. 

“Can I help you?” Will sizes up the other man. He’s taller, shoulders are broad and strong they look larger in the suit. Light hair oddly immaculate in the wind. His eye are dark and deep set over nearly knife sharp cheekbones. Will swallows. Unsure about this feeling in the lowest part of his stomach. Warm and slow. He brushes it off as nerves.  
“I've come to pray,” the man smiles softly sharp pearly white teeth show faintly in the parting of his lips.  
“Unfortunately, we don’t open for morning worship for another hour, maybe you can come back then,” Will tries not to sound too dismissive of this newcomer. He can't recall ever seeing this man before. Though he's only worked here a few months, sometimes the patron's faces blur together.  
“Well, would you have a conversation with me? The two of us, about the nature of the soul?” the stranger laughs as though he’d made some private joke. The light changes slightly with the rising sun and Will sees the stranger’s eyes are actually a deep shade of maroon. He stars a moment too long.  
“I should really be getting to work, I’m not sure I have any answers for you,” Will stands and turns to leave.  
“Please, sit,” The taller man seems to command as he sits on a bench in the courtyard, “I’ll dance at your wedding if you do.”

Will sits, cautiously, near the man. He isn’t sure why but he feels compelled to stay. As though his muscles will only move toward this stranger and not of his own desires. The man in the gold scarf extends his hand in friendly offering.  
“My name is Hannibal, Hannibal Lecter, I feel that I need to be forthright in that I’m not really here to confess any sins that I may have committed.” Will grasps his hand in a firm handshake. Hannibal’s hand is warm for not being covered on this winter morning. He gives Will a business card indicating he’s a psychologist in the city. Doctor Hannibal Lecter in bold black lettering and a simple line frame.  
“Will Graham. If you don’t mind my asking, why are you here?” His voice is cold and a swift wind picks up tousling his hair. He manages to stifle a shiver.  
“Are you cold?” Hannibal slips his bright scarf from around his neck and offers it to Will. The soft cashmere fabric brushes against Will’s fingers as he lifts his hands in protest.  
“I can’t accept this, keep it.”  
“Just for the time being,”  
Will hesitantly takes the scarf wrapping it around his neck. It’s soft and surprisingly warm. Smelling of detergent and warm cinnamon and something he just can’t place. Familiar somehow.

“I am here with a sort of, proposition, for you,” Hannibal's eyes move up Will’s body taking in every inch of dark haired man before him, “you’re not actually a priest here, not yet. You have only a few months until you swear your life to the church but you’re not actually certain the existence of the god you worship. You dream, still, of your former life. Hot humid nights sweating in fitful sleep. This cold doesn’t suit you, Will,” Hannibal’s voice is even and warm, “don’t you think maybe you were meant to answer a more intimate calling than living to serve.”  
“Well, what did you have in mind then, Doctor Lecter?” Will's voice is breathy, barely a whisper, as Hannibal puts his hand on Will’s knee. He realizes he hasn't been touched by anyone in too long. The fabric of the slacks warmed instantly. On the surface this looks to be a friendly gesture but Will can see beyond appearances. 

The world floats away around him, he is standing, in the foyer of a large federal style home. Brick exterior, large rounded windows, the sheer curtains are drawn so only a sliver of light escapes. As though the house is readying itself for sleep. The floors are deep indigo wood, almost black, box gardens match the floors, they seem to float along the wall behind an enormous but empty dining table. Almost empty. Will watches as Hannibal sips a deep red wine and starts on a rare cut of meat before him. Is this what Will is meant to see? Is this what is supposed to draw him away from possible salvation? To be tempted with food and wine? The scene ends he doesn’t have enough information about the stranger propositioning him. 

“Will?” Hannibal is unconcerned with Will’s distraction, “I have a proposition for you. Do you ever feel as though your empathic abilities may be put to better use than listening to others try and share their guilt? Do you ever feel that maybe you would be able to assist your fellow man in other ways?” Will is stone faced. eyebrows knit and scowling vaguely. Still the warmth of this man is spreading up his thigh it’s deep in his blood. A strange arousal. That smell, again, from the scarf. He’s a little dizzy and only half listening as Hannibal continues,”...Jack Crawford...FBI.. consulting…,” Will catches clips in Hannibal’s deep voice.  
“Wait, FBI?!” Will is listening more intently.  
“Yes, I have been a consultant for the FBI for a number of years. I’ve watched you for some time, now, Will, you might be able to help us with a case.” Will nods he’s skeptical of this offer.  
“Thank you, Doctor Lecter, but I’m going to have to decline. I’m just not that interested,” Will stands and offers Hannibal his scarf.  
“Please, you keep it. Call it a gift,” Hannibal is brisk but friendly, almost warm, “you have my card. We’ll be in touch.” He stands and offers his hand to Will once more. This time shaking Will's hands in both of his. Will is unsure if it's just the sun that has him forgetting what the chilly morning felt like or if it was the way Hannibal touched him. He is suddenly too warm. Unable to shake this heat igniting his every cell.


	2. And So Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will considers hannibal's offer

The bells ring their old heavy tune. Bronzy gonging through the courtyard brings Will back to reality. He rushes to the main building. His shoes click against the brick of the path and up the stairs. Now comes the hard part. He stands near the back of the pulpit.

The pews are all hard heavy hand-carved mahogany. They have been in the church since it opened. The patrons sit quietly, though the occasional cough and shift is heard. Thankfully there aren’t any babies crying this week. All it takes is one to set the others off. Will looks up at the vaulted ceiling and stained glass pieces. All transparently deep slick red for the blood spilled in forgiveness of the world. Soft blue and warm honey yellow with sections of emerald and jade tones for the saints. 

He sees the colors swirl above him. And shift. Will is distantly aware of the sound of singing or speech but it's miles away where he can’t quite reach. He’s transfixed on this glasswork of Saint Michael standing above the devil, spear in hand. The work starts to swirl in color and form. Satan’s face almost bursting forth and hissing. Claws are digging upward at the angel above him. His skin becomes deep pitch in color nearly absorbing all light. His face is hollow and his bones are sharp. Horns spiraling out like a deer in the wood. A certain hunger, one that couldn’t be known by man, is the only expression within the demon’s maroon eyes. The colors melt from the piece. 

Warm, it’s … it’s too warm. Everything is suddenly too much. Will feels the heat lick at his skin. His hands are clammy then immediately too dry… painful. His vision goes dark and all he remembers is tilting … careening forward. Will can feel this thick hot wet pool envelope him, sucking him down into the floor. He sinks deeper into the waters. His heart is pounding in his ears, his throat. Everything around him is dark. Deep blue wood floors and tall open windows. Everything is blurry, dark, and warm. An imposingly long dark matte table rests in the center of the room. Matching chairs with high backs and sturdy legs surround. The table’s centerpiece sprawls along its impressive length. Tangles of vibrant roses in red and gold, orange lilies, white and purple hellebore, dark brambles amongst them. Deep purple pomegranates burst forth jewel colored seeds, golden apples, and a silver serving platter still covered. The devil with his spiraling antlers sits at the head in this darkened room. Silver plate and cutlery before him. His plate is empty and the setting to his right. 

Will breathes in deeply. The aroma is rich with flora and some sort of meat; it’s coppery and wet. The creature stands and pulls the chair beside him, inviting Will to sit beside him. Will’s limbs are heavy and slow. He’s fighting against a current. He is still compelled to move toward the table. The chair before him looms and stretches. Everything seems farther. The creature waits, patient and expectant. Will can only hear his blood pumping and the labor of his breathing. He sits before this lavish display and looks up into the beast’s eyes. Unsure what he is waiting for. The creature places a wine dark napkin on Will’s lap with his long spidery fingers. Narrow bones in his arms easily visible under his tight dark skin. He reaches for the shining platter lifting the platter. The metal on metal ringing within the lid echos loudly in the room. The smell of copper and meat are nearly suffocating. Will coughs trying to dislodge the scent. The platter reveals a bed of greens and pulpy red oranges surrounding a long cut of meat the bone jutting obscenely from the roast. Will looks along the length of the dish before him. Something familiar and yet so strange. 

The table slips away from him. Leaving him sitting alone in the dark as the room swirls around him. Will blinks. Father McGregor is kneeling over him. Silence falls over the congregation. “Welcome back, William. It seems our acolyte has had a bit of a topple. We’ll have him looked after and we can get back to this week’s sermon. Incidentally, about doing more to help your fellow man,” Father smiles and tries to calm the group. Will can hear his footfalls on the soft carpeting his mind still miles away. Another parishioner helping him to his office. He slumps onto his couch the soft leather is cool to the touch. The air around him is heavy and the room is still off its tilt. He groans softly and lets himself drift off in the darkened room as the other priest leaves him to return to mass.

Will tosses struggling to find comfort in his uneasy sleep. The man from earlier, tall and perfectly postured, broad shoulders, immaculately coiffed hair. Hannibal. He stands facing Will at the same table as the beast. He pulls a chair out, silently, so Will may find some comfort. His long fingers tap gently on the sides of the backing. Will notes the colors of the room are cooler, less severe. White roses, pale purple pansies, and deep bluebells in masses of moss and green fern. Pulpy blackberries and cherries, plums, and the odd fragrant peach add a richness akin to the table the beast had made for Will. Will can make out the scene on the silver-blue table runner. The black embroidery depicts a single young buck racing through the wood pursued by ravenous hunting dogs only to be cornered and torn asunder. 

Will’s soft steps are the only sound as he once again approaches the chair to the right of the table head. Hannibal gestures to the seat. Will slowly sits and stares at the bone white china plate set befo re him. Hannibal pushes in his chair and gestures toward the napkin beside the plate. Will runs his fingertips over the payne’s grey cloth it’s soft to the touch. He slips the napkin over his lap. Hannibal reaches into the centerpiece retrieving a plum, a peach, and a long stem wine glass. Setting the fruit on Will’s plate Hannibal pours a rich, deep, red wine in the glass. he stops just before the glass begins to overflow. Will watches fascinated. Hannibal splits the peach and begins to offer dripping slices to Will. 

Will’s eyes are intensely blue in this light as he looks into Hannibal’s. The same maroon as the Beast’s. His mouth is not his own and his soft lips part allowing the ripe wet fruit entry. His host’s fingertips trace the curve of his lower lip collecting the dripping of sticky sweet-scented nectar. Will, oddly parched, reaches for the wine glass drinking deeply the currant colored fluid within. Will’s mouth is stained by the velvety drink and the sweetness of the peach. He licks his lips believing he can taste Hannibal’s fingers upon them. Another slice of peach is waiting, patiently just outside Will’s open mouth. He looks up expectant when its soft flesh doesn’t enter. Hannibal stares down at him. Waiting. Will slowly moves forward attempting to capture the food offered to him. He feels the tip of the wedge against his tongue and he licks at the sticky pearl of juice that is about to drip. Savoring the flavor before his sharp white teeth split through the skin and the flesh of the offering. Hannibal smiles, his teeth showing, not in threat but as if he is promising more to come. He is still holding the end of the peach when Will’s mouth captures his fingers. Will’s tongue glides along the digits licking them clean of the sweet and sticky mess. He doesn’t bite but allows Hannibal to feel the edges of his teeth. 

Will’s eyes flutter open and the light from the office window is upon him. It must be nearly noon. His head is throbbing behind his eyes and he can feel a tingle in his trousers as his waking erection subsides. He looks around the room unsure of how he got back to his office. His back and neck ache from the couch. Moving to his desk he retrieves a nearly empty bottle of aspirin. He’ll have to go buy more soon, especially if these headaches and dizzy spells persist. He’s not certain where this one came from. Spontaneous vertigo, maybe? Though it doesn’t make sense. Maybe some sort of sinus infection. Will resolves to make an appointment later in the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in any iteration of the man, Will is a fucking tease.

**Author's Note:**

> Exposition now. Porn later. I will update the rating once there is some lovin'.


End file.
